


Gravity Well

by whelmedtobehere



Series: Steel Bonds [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Bruce has some negative thoughts about himself, Clark Kent is a Good Friend, Clark and Bruce are best friends, Gen, Martha kent is awesome, Self-Hatred, Young! Bruce, Young! Clark, he makes some small but positive steps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:48:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24448354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whelmedtobehere/pseuds/whelmedtobehere
Summary: "Bruce shouldn’t have been here. Everything about it was wrong. The sky was too blue and the grass was too green and Mrs. Kents smile was too bright."Bruce Wayne is visiting the Kent's farm but he didn't want to be here this week of all weeks. Martha Kent has a talk with him and Clark Kent is there for his friend.
Relationships: Clark Kent & Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent & Martha Kent, Martha Kent & Bruce Wayne
Series: Steel Bonds [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1504493
Comments: 2
Kudos: 44





	Gravity Well

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a series but you don't need to read any of those works first since this takes place first chronologically. All you need to know is that this takes place in a universe where Bruce and Clark meet and become best friends not long after Bruce's parents are killed. Bruce and Clark are about 11 here.

Bruce shouldn’t have been here. Everything about it was wrong. The sky was too blue and the grass was too green and Mrs. Kents smile was too bright. Bruce was like a black hole that sucked all color and light out of everything he touched. He didn’t want to come. He’d tried to tell Alfred but the butler had insisted. 

“Come on dear. Why don’t we go put your stuff up in Clark’s room.” Mrs. Kent wiped her flour dusted hands on her white apron, then removed it to hang from a hook on the wall perpendicular to the cupboards. 

Bruce clutched his bags tighter. “It’s okay Mrs. Kent. I know where Clark’s room is. I can carry these myself.” He was only staying for the weekend, but between the things he thought he might need and the things Alfred insisted he take, they had managed to pack two moderate sized duffle bags.

“Oh nonsense! Those bags look heavy.” She reached for the black and blue bag containing his books and a small first aid kit, sliding it off his arm and into her own and effectively ending any arguments. Bruce followed her up the stairs past family photos - the Kent's wedding photo, a baby picture of Clark, and a family photo of all three of them a few years back. “Clark should be back from school soon and then you boys can play outside until dinner time.” Mrs. Kent went downstairs and Bruce put away his things which only took a few minutes as it mostly consisted of putting his suitcases under the bottom bunk. He was sitting on the floor reading - The Hounds of Baskerville - when a breeze ruffled his hair and flipped half the pages over, causing him to lose his place. 

“Clark! No superspeed in the house!” Mrs. Kent’s voice floated up the stairs, the end of her sentence reaching his ears at the same time Clark did. 

“Bruce! You’re here!” 

“Hello Clark” Bruce said as he calmly closed his book and placed it on the bed. Then stood up. Clark reached out to give him a hug. He usually tolerated Clark’s typical embrace of greeting, sometimes even returning it, but his skin felt thin and brittle like a touch might break the surface and let the poison beating in his veins burst, so he carefully sidestepped it. Clark frowned briefly, but quickly brushed it off, putting a huge grin back on his face.

“I got a new baseball and catcher's mitt. You wanna go outside and practice?” Bruce almost said yes automatically. Practicing with Clark sounded fun, but he picked his book back up and sat on the bed. 

“I was actually in the middle of something Clark.” Though he started reading he could make out Clark’s look of hurt in his peripheral. He tried to ignore the tightening in his chest as his darkness cast its shadow on his best friend, despite his best efforts. 

“Well okay then.” Clarks chipper voice sounded more forced than earlier. “I have homework I should probably get started on anyway. Bruce only hummed in response. Despite Clark’s best efforts, they remained relatively silent until dinner during which Bruce said as few words as possible. Mr. and Mrs. Kent, normally inquisitive in their friendliness, didn’t push him and Bruce knew by the look they shared when they thought he wasn’t looking, that Alfred had told them the real reason for his forced visit. And he could feel their pity. Or maybe it was scorn. Maybe Alfred had told them about the black hole, how his darkness sucked every bit of light in. He knew Alfred knew. It was why he’d sent him away. He tried to force the thoughts away. Clark at least liked him but how long would it take him to figure it out too. 

Bruce barely finished the food on his plate despite Mrs. Kent’s gentle encouragement and afterwards he followed her into the kitchen to help clean up. He washed dishes while Clark dried. The water was too hot but he didn’t turn it down, scrubbing the dishes with a focused intensity, determined to get every spot off. Mrs. Kent’s and Clark’s cheerful chatter became a faint buzz in his ears. He only faintly registered when their tones turned to concern. 

“Bruce.” Mrs. Kent called his name sharply bringing him back to reality. He stared at the shattered glass in his hand for a moment, uncomprehending. His eyes drifted to the blood now seeping out of his hands. He closed his eyes and the image of blood in a dark alleyway came forth unbidden. He was shaking now and he squeezed his eyelids shut tighter, trying to force the image away. There was a warm hand on his shoulder and he opened his eyes to meet Mrs. Kent’s concerned blue ones. “Bruce. Honey. I’m going to take the glass okay.” Bruce nodded and she carefully grabbed the pieces in a towel and tossed them into the trash can underneath the counter. Just then Clark came careening in (at a normal speed) a gray plastic case clutched in one hand.

“Ma. I got the first aid kit.” He handed it over as if it were going to explode in his hands. His eyes darted back and forth between Bruce and Mrs. Kent as if unsure what to do. Bruce knew with certainty that this was the moment that he’d been dreading, when Clark would finally realize what kind of person he was - the kind that couldn’t help but break things and hurt himself and other people - and decided he couldn’t be friends with him anymore.

“Clark.” Mrs. Kent opened the kit on the counter and started rummaging through it. “Why don’t you go help your father outside.”

“But Ma! Bruce-”

“Now Clark.” Mrs. Kent didn’t raise her voice in volume but her tone didn’t allow for any argument. Clark glared, eyes narrowed in a look of fury Bruce had never seen on Clark’s face before, but he left, casting one more glance over his shoulder before walking out the door. 

Mrs. Kent had poured rubbing alcohol on a cotton ball, which she held in one hand, and she gently took hold of his bleeding hand in her free one. “I’m going to clean up your cut but it's going to sting a little okay?” Bruce nodded in response and Mrs. Kent started dabbing at his cut, wiping the blood away. It did sting a little but he didn’t make a sound. 

When he opened his mouth a little bit after she started cleaning his hands, what came out of his mouth surprised him. “Clark’s mad at me.”

Mrs. Kent looked up at him in surprise. “No dear. He’s mad at me because I made him leave. He’s worried about you.”

“Alfred’s mad at me too.”

Bruce thought that she would immediately contradict him, but she finished wrapping his hand in a bandage. Then she looked him straight in the eyes, her own eyes full of concern and kindness. “Why do you think Alfred’s mad at you? Did you get in a fight? Did he tell you he was angry with you?”

Bruce looked away from Mrs. Kents persistently kind gaze and studied his newly bandaged hand as intensely as if it had been cut off and grown back, instead of just being disinfected. “He didn’t have to tell me. He’s angry and sick of me. That’s why he sent me away. He doesn’t want to deal with me anymore.”

"Bruce if you’re feeling like this you should tell Alfred. I don’t want to speak for him but I will say that anyone who knows him knows that he cares about you. He wanted you to come for a visit-” She put a careful emphasis on the word visit. “Because he’s worried about you. He thought it might be good for you to be somewhere different with friends.”

“It’s not. Being here doesn’t make me forget. I can’t just pretend I’m okay.” Every word shook with a fury he was familiar with, but still didn’t understand, that he couldn’t quite control but instead of getting louder his voice only got softer until it dropped almost too low to be audible. He raised a shaking hand to wipe off a tear that had escaped from his eye.

Mrs. Kent knelt down and placed her hands on Bruce’s shoulders.. “No one is asking you to be okay Bruce and you never have to pretend here. You don’t have to forget, but there is a difference between living with grief and living in it. Sometimes being somewhere different, especially during times when it’s harder not to dwell and get stuck, can give you some room to breathe. You don’t have to forget, but it's okay to think about other things and the other people that you care about.” Bruce was crying in earnest now, silent sobs shaking his shoulders as tears streamed down his face. “If you truly think you’ll be better off at the Manor we can call Alfred to come pick you up tomorrow. But think about it seriously Bruce and make what decision you think is best for you okay?”

Bruce thought as his sobs slowed, as he wiped the tears off his face with the sleeve of his shirt, and then he thought about it for a few minutes more, frowning as he stared down at the tiles on the floor. He enjoyed being at the Kent’s house and on a normal week he would have been looking forward to the visit for weeks leading up to it. Maybe it would be good to be here instead of at the Manor where everywhere he turned he saw all the ways his parents were missing, all the places they should be which perhaps was not what he needed during the anniversary of their deaths. “I want to-” He stopped, his voice sounded foreign and ancient to his own ears. He cleared his throat in an attempt to dislodge the cobwebs that seem to have resided there. “I want to stay here. If that’s okay?” The question came out uncertain. Maybe she was already regretting being so nice to him and offering to let him stay.

Her warm smile banished that fear. “Of course it's okay sweetie. We don’t make it a habit of inviting people we don’t want to stay.” She teases, placing a hand on his cheek. “But you Bruce, you’re always welcome here anytime you want or need. Okay?”

Bruce nods. “Thank you Mrs. Kent.”

“Of course sweetie. Now you can stay in here and help me in the kitchen if you want, but I’m sure Clark is worried about you so whenever you’re ready you can go outside.”

“I’m ready.” Bruce said.

“All right then. Go tell Clark I said he’s free from chores for the rest of the evening so you boys can go and play.” 

Bruce stepped outside and took a deep breath of fresh air. He pushed all his negative emotions, his anger and fear and other things he’s not sure he can name, into his lungs and imagined them sitting there, turning the fresh air black. Then he lets the breath out, releasing them out into the world to be carried off by the cool breeze. It didn’t make all the feelings disappear, but it helped a little. He started headed toward the barn just as Clark was coming out. He couldn’t have been out there more than twenty minutes, but had already managed to get dirt all over his hands and some across his forehead and rip open the right knee of his jeans. As soon as Clark saw him, which was almost instantly, he supersped over to stand right in front of Bruce.

“You okay Bruce?” Clark asked, an anxious tilt to his lips as he looked Bruce up and down, as if assessing his condition. “How’s your hand?”

“Your mother bandaged it.” He answered, holding up his hand so Clark could see.

“And how are you? You seemed upset.”

Bruce didn’t answer for a moment, trying to find the right way to explain what he was feeling, but it was a complicated, nebulous mass that slipped out of the grasp of words. He grabbed at the center of it instead. “My parents,” He stopped. “On Monday. It’s the anniversary-” He stopped again. It was harder to say than he had thought, but fortunately Clark seemed to catch on to what he was saying. 

“I know. My ma told me. That’s why you’re upset.” It wasn’t a question exactly, but said it in a way that allowed him to speak or to remain silent. 

“Last year I didn’t leave the Manor for the entire week and I visited their graves every day.”

“Are you upset? Because you can’t do that this year?” Clark’s tone was more curious and he drew back a bit as soon as the question was out of his mouth, as if he wasn't sure that was the right thing to say.

Bruce didn’t mind the question. They didn’t talk often about his parents or their feelings often, but Bruce found that when they did Clark’s questions often helped him process what he was feeling. “I was.” He admitted. “But I’ll visit them Monday. For now I’ll stay here.” Bruce wasn’t sure if that made sense, if it accurately expressed his desire to try and let himself breathe a bit like Mrs. Kent had said, but the answer seemed to satisfy Clark who nodded. They stood there in the quiet for a little bit longer, a silent understanding between them that Bruce didn’t think he would ever be able to put into words, before they went to go find the ball, bat, and catcher’s mitt for a game of baseball that lasted until it was time for bed.


End file.
